


Unlikely Allies

by Cats_Obsessions



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A lot of introspection, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fenris has dry humor, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rating May Change, copious amounts of bickering, eventually, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28968492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cats_Obsessions/pseuds/Cats_Obsessions
Summary: After evading Denarius’ grasp for nearly three years on his own, Fenris finally has a group of friends, somewhere to sleep at night, and coin to pay for food. The past seven months traveling with Hawke have been a needed reprieve, despite many of the inconveniences along the way. However, he truly didn’t think Hawke’s taste in friends could get any worse until the gang runs into a Tevinter Altus down on his luck. Much to Fenris’ chagrin, Hawke invites Dorian Pavus to join them. Fenris might be learning not all mages are evil, but that’s just pushing it.Tl;dr: Dragon Age 2 but with Dorian.
Relationships: Fenris & Dorian Pavus, Fenris/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I wrote a few years ago but never posted. I wanted to share it anyways as I'm challenging myself to post more of my works even if I don't think they're perfect.  
> I have a few chapters finished, and I'll probably just edit them a bit before posting. There is some form of a conclusion already written. I don't know if I'll add anything or take this in a friendship or romance direction since everything I wrote so far was just building up trust in an unlikely/begrudging friendship way. I guess we'll see!

It was another usual day with Hawke- at least at first.

Fenris was woken by the persistent knocking on the front door of his mansion, the old wood creaking under the pressure. He wasn’t alarmed to find Verric and Hawke outside, asking him to come along to take care of a bounty Hawke had picked up in the shady, dirty corners of the Hanged Man.

“You’ll like this one,” he had said, that stupid typical Garrett smile plastered across his face. Fenris would never admit it, but it made him feel good to know Garrett thought of him- even if it was in relation to murder. Of course, Isabella wasn’t far behind and before he knew it, the gang was in Lowtown searching for some Tevinter slaver.

In the evening light, the red haze of sunset illuminates the tall smoke stacks in the distance surrounding Lowtown where factory workers slave over hot furnaces. The markets are only beginning to thin out as people retreat to their homes, leaving heaps of litter behind the edges of the streets. It doesn’t take long to navigate the winding streets on uneven cobblestone to find the warehouse their mark was rumored to be occupying.

Inside, the building is only illuminated by the light that filters through small windows at the top of the walls. The floor is either dirt itself or so much sand has tracked in that it has obscured the once stone foundation. Empty and destroyed crates lie around with some rusted cages abandoned in the entry room. It is unsurprising to find their target would occupy such a place. The man, Danzig, is just another mechanism for slave trade in Tevinter. Sick and twisted, their employer says him and his men lurk in the shadows of Lowtown and Darktown to prey on the defenseless only to drag them across seas to serve cruel masters against their will. _Typical_.

Fenris can feel the magic at play in the building. It takes some fighting to get past the guards, but upon entering the storage room, they quickly find the source. Danzig is locked in combat with another mage; elemental attacks surge from their staffs through the air, colliding with boxes and crates to send splinters and debris flying through the air. It’s clear Danzig is outmatched. He stumbles back, weakness dragging him down as he runs low on mana. The other mage casts one last spell, and giant billowing purple smoke envelops the slaver and his fallen comrades around him.

 _Necromancy_.

Fenris feels the magic filled the air around him like heavy mist in the early morning as the singed bodies of his fallen guards rise around him only to turn on him. They crowd him with their swords swinging wildly and unskilled- yet effective. Even from afar, he can hear the thud of steal meeting bone as the reanimated dead fight at the command of the young mage.

Young, indeed. As soon as the battle is won, the prevailing mage collapses to his knees, quickly followed by his small army of corpses. He’s weak and exhausted- _good_ , Fenris thinks, taking a step forward. Garret puts out his hand to stop him, but Fenris is already unsheathing his sword as he nears the man, pointing it at him warily.

“Fenris!” Garrett warns, panic rising in his voice.

He’s not cruel; he wouldn’t kill him just for being a mage. But there’s something in his magic that sets Fenris’ nerves ablaze, tells him to be on edge, and makes him want- no, _need_ to investigate.

Hearing Geralt’s warning, the man whips his head around. His eyes immediately lock onto Fenris, and the elf is nearly taken aback to see the paleness of silver-grey eyes staring at him, wide with the hint of fear in them. He’s probably around Fenris’ age if not a few years older. His skin is darker, and hair pure black, curling just slightly, a few strands falling into his face. He has a strong jawline and full lips, an appearance more common in the more Southern reaches of the Imperium. One glance at his clothes tell Fenris he’s wealthy, a closer inspection, however, reveals the wear and tear on them unusual to a mage of his power.

Garrett’s large hand grips Fenris’ arm, as if to restrain him from making a sudden move. In the past, he would have ripped out of the mage’s grip. But seven months into traveling together, he’s become tolerant of the way the man obliviously clings onto all his friends- most of the time, anyways.

“I mean you no harm!” the man says. _His voice_. High society mage undoubtedly.

“Let’s just calm down. We came for the bounty on Danzig. What are you doing here?” Garrett asks, eyeing Fenris nervously as he lets go of the elf’s arm.

“The very same. I was just dispatching our friend here,” he says, nervously eyeing the blade. Fenris does not point it at him, but its presence is just enough to remind him not to try anything; one swift move would be all it would take with the mage in this condition. His eyes drift back to Fenris, something in them makes him gristle at the sight. But the way they linger on him- his suspicion continues to grow with the rotten feeling in his stomach.

“Who sent you?” Fenris growls out at last.

The man blinks behind thick eyelashes a few times before responding. “What?”

Fenris clenches his teeth, “Who. Sent. You.” he repeats. When the mage stares at him as if there were not a thought in his mind, he scoffs. “Another slaver’s company or..?”

“What?! No!” he snarls, nose wrinkling in disgust, “What do you take me for? I simply answered the bounty- I had thought it would be fun cleaning up this cesspool of some of its scum.”

“You look a little over your head there, friend,” Garrett quips, not a drop of venom in his voice.

The mage winces “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect him to arm his soldiers with magebane. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough to deplete my mana, but I’m afraid I’ll need a minute.”

Garrett, naive as can be, begins to talk “I might have some-”

“You do not really expect us to believe you, do you? That you came to Lowtown to pursue a bounty on one of your kinsmen for _fun_?” Fenris interrupts.

“Perceptive, aren’t you? Yes, I may be from Tevinter, but his likes are no kinsmen to me. Quite frankly, I needed the coin,” the mage replies, a hint of embarrassment tinges his voice. It’s the most ridiculous thing Fenris has ever heard. High society mages don’t need bounty coin!

His voice drops lower as his grip tightens around the hilt of his sword “Danarius? Are you not working for him? Is that the bounty you came to collect?”

The mage scoots back some and stares back with a blank expression on his face until some sort of realization hits “Magister Danarius? That crazy bastard?! Andraste’s tits, no!”

Fenris loosens his grip on his sword as he takes a step back, but he keeps a cautious eye on the mage.

“I’ve never met him,” he continues “I only know of him. Whatever business you have with him, it’s not mine.”

Fenris stares at him for a beat, but he can detect no lies. So, he allows himself to relax even minutely. Next to him, Fenris can hear Garrett sigh a breath of relief. “Very well. However, I know an Altus when I see one. If you are not here on his behalf, why are you here?”

The mage sits up straight as if presenting himself, “My name is Dorian Pavus of the house of Pavus- most recently some hell hole of an inn. I’ve come to Kirkwall of my own accord.”

“Maybe we could put the sword down?” Hawke chimes in. He only earns a glare from the elf. “Here,” Garett says as he approaches the mage. He holds out a blue lyrium potion which Dorian takes with shaking hands.

“Thank you,” he murmurs before drinking its contents. Fenris glowers at Hawke, knowing this will only strengthen the mage in case of a confrontation.

“Why come to Kirkwall?” he says sternly, redirecting his attention to Dorian again. The house of Pavus... He had heard of Halward Pavus during his time in Tevinter. Most people have. He’s well respected among many and hated within Danarius’ circle. In fact, Fenris is fairly certain he’s never met Magister Pavus. It's at least somewhat reassuring, but that doesn’t answer his question.

Dorian doesn’t respond as his gaze falls to the floor, holding a solemness within it.

“Ah, that’s why you took the bounty?” The elf chuckles, a deep bitter sound from his chest as the pieces fall into place. Finally, he does sheath his sword once more “What did you do that was so bad to be banished from a lawless land like Tevinter?”

Dorian scoffs as pulls himself to his feet, brushing the dirt from his clothes “I did nothing wrong! Like I said, I left of my own accord. Perhaps I just wanted to explore the world.”

“If that were the case, you would have more coin to your name, Altus.” he scoffs, “and you wouldn’t be chasing slavers.”

“Everyone needs hobbies. Furthermore, I’m no longer an Altus.” Dorian sulks. “-not really, anyways.”

That peaks Fenris’ attention, a genuine look of curiosity crossing his face. He doesn’t push though. In reality, one cannot really un-become an Altus. However, if the mage has a distaste for the title, his family, or doubts his standing as an heir, that’s a good sign at least.

While the rest of the gang had been content to stand back and watch from afar, finally Isabella approaches Hawke. “Are they speaking Common?” she asks, only partially joking, he’s sure.

“Mostly,” Hawke responds apathetically. “I’m a little confused- Fenris, what’s an Altus?”

“He’s a _magister’s_ son,” the elf says, his bitterness more than apparent in his voice

It makes Dorian uncomfortable to hear that, apparently, because he diverts his eyes, some sort of shame crossing his face- or is it regret? Whatever it is, it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and he’s once again standing tall and proud- preening in the typical Tevinter fashion. “If you’re done pointing swords at me then, I have a reward to collect.”

“Hold up, Sparkler,” Varric says, stepping forward “We did take care of all those guards for you.”

“Does this mean we have to split the bounty,” Isabella pouts.

A look of panic grows in the mage’s stormy eyes “What? No! In no way have I agreed to this. I killed Danzig.”

“But we cleared out the warehouse.” Varric defends, though there’s nothing malicious about the way he speaks; clearly, Fenris’ companions don’t see a Tevinter mage as the same threat he does.

“The bounty was-” Dorian begins.

“For both,” Varric smiles devilishly as he holds up the warrant he grabbed off the notice board earlier- always the bargainer.

Dorian looks as dejected as he was when sitting on the ground powerless. “I- I need that coin.”

Fenris can’t stifle his scoff. He doesn’t feel bad for him. An Altus lives their whole life in the lap of luxury. Surely, this one can learn to work for once. Though, he can’t help but register that it’s the first time Dorian has stuttered, even with a sword pointed toward him.

“Hey now, I’m sure we can arrange something.” Garrett says gently.

“We could always use a less controversial mage,” Isabella adds, her eyes roaming over him slowly.

“No.” Fenris all but bares his teeth at that. “And he’s not less controversial.”

Garrett seems to think for a moment before questioning Dorian further, blatantly ignoring Fenris’ protests. “Do you use blood magic?”

“Maker, no! I find even the implication vile.” Dorian protests.

 _Interesting_ , but they are trained to say that in Tevinter, are they not? All pretend they are opposed to it, but any man desperate for power will find himself succumbing to the temptations of blood magic, if not murder and other ploys of depravity.

“Are ya possessed?” Varric chimes in, causing the mage to wrinkle his nose again.

“Good to know you think so highly of me already. Of course, I’m not possessed! What kind of madman do you think I am? Or do you assume such of all those who hail from Tevinter?”

“Oh sweetie,” Isabella chimes “They were referencing our friends, not you.”

Fenris looks to Garrett, but he doesn’t catch his eyes. Garrett is staring between Dorian and Isabela, considering the woman’s suggestion. Why he seems to follow along with her whims so easily, Fenris will never understand.

“Hawke,” he warns.

“Look, if you’re really desperate for coin, you could accompany us on the next job we have lined up.”

Dorian raises an eyebrow curiously “And why should I trust you? Your friend greeted me with a sword.”

“Yes, but we didn’t let him kill you!” Hawke says with a smirk “Besides, it’ll be fun.”

“Why am I not convinced,” he replies flatly.

Varric chuckles, seeming to warm up to the mage already “Because it’s the bone pit.”

“And a necromancer would be so cool in the bone pit!” Garrett beams.

“ _Hawke_!” Fenris growls. His glare says it all, but he knows there is some truth in what Garrett is saying- particularly the part he left out: A blood mage and a possessed idiot are not great for the bone pit haunted with spirits of the tormented. He’s worried about bringing them along, what they might attract. But a necromancer... he would be powerful. Perhaps too powerful, though.

“Look, I’m not saying you’d have to join our gang forever. Just, you could tag along and help us deal with this, then go on your way if you’d like.”

Dorian actually looks hopeful at that, offering the group a small smile. His eyes flick over Fenris for only a second, likely sensing the elf’s great discomfort with the situation. “I- that would be greatly appreciated, actually.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say I really appreciate all the kind comments and kudos on the last chapter.
> 
> this chapter and much of the fic takes on more of a snapshot styles for its scenes.

“I understand why you are hesitant to trust him-”

“Then you shouldn’t have invited him to join us on this job.” Fenris bites back.

Today is the day they had been planning to go to the Bone Pit. It’s a long trek to get there, and hours of work once inside. After their first encounter with Dorian, Fenris had told Hawke he would not be accompanying them. And yet, Garrett had to show up at the mansion in the early hours of morning to continue badgering him.

“But he’s different.” Hawke finishes. Both of their patience is running thin, but Hawke should know better than to ask Fenris to accompany an _Altus_.

“You don’t know that.” Fenris glares. 

Garrett purses his lips, his eyebrows drawing together, “Do you really believe I’m the only mage that can be different? Be good?”

Fenris doesn’t let his mind settle on that question for more than a second. Some part of him knows pondering it would bring him to crossroads he isn’t willing to navigate yet. “This isn’t about mages. He’s an Altus.”

“Tevinter can’t be 100% evil. Just give him a chance and you’ll see.”

“I knew you were naive, Garrett, but this foolish? You’ve really chosen the three worst mages in the city for company. He will show his true colors sooner or later. You should hope the betrayal is not as monumental as they typically are in Tevinter.”

Garrett pulls himself from the old, worn armchair with a sigh, “I’ll see you when we get back, Fen.”

*****

Against his best judgement, of course, the elf finds himself climbing the winding paths that twist up the mountains and lead to the Bone Pit. If he’s calculated correctly, he’s not far behind the others, and as he draws closer, he quickly spots the smoke rising from the campfire they’d lit while stopping for a break.

He hasn’t had a change of heart. Rather, he feels he would be hypocritical if he were to leave the others with the Altus in a place like this. His mind helped plenty to bring him here, providing him with a dozen different scenarios of their adventures gone wrong- reasons not to trust Dorian. But deep down he hates those kinds of thoughts- the anger that seems buried in his soul. It feels like another mark left by Danarius... that he cannot even decide how he feels about someone on his own. But he did, didn’t he? He had no qualms- well, few qualms about asking for Hawke’s help. But an Altus is different than a Fereldan mage.

“Fenris!” Hawke beams when the elf approaches their campfire, “You changed your mind!”

“I suppose you could say that.” He grumbles in response.

Varric smiles from where he’s sitting on a fallen tree and pats the empty spot next to him, “Good to see you, Broody.”

“Yes, I’m glad you decided to join us,” Dorian adds. He’s met with nothing but a glare from Fenris.

* * *

The Bone Pit is hardly the last of it. A few more adventures later, and Dorian is walking back to Lowtown for celebratory drinks with his new friends. After such a long bought of misfortune over the past few years, all building up into one horrendous incident and several months of wandering the South alone and with little in terms of coin or provisions, this has seemed like a blessing from the maker.

They’re an odd group, he finds. Hawke is from some wealthy family displaced by the Blight; there’s Varric, the adventurous dwarf; Isabela, a bold and flirtatious pirate; Merril, the sweet yet naïve blood mage; Anders, who is possessed; and Aveline, a strong but kind guard captain. This time, Hawke brought his winey little brother Carver instead of the dwarf. Intelligence doesn’t seem to run in that family, but they’re kind.

It’s the elf that catches his attention the most, _Fenris_. If he had not pointed a sword at him the second they met, Dorian would have gone as far to call him handsome. His personality is about as mysterious as his appearance; the markings stand out brightly against his dark olive skin. Watching him activate them was even more fascinating, but from his reference to Danarius in their first meeting, he knows the elf’s past must not be a good one. That likely explains his automatic disdain for Dorian. Though, it doesn’t seem his hatred extends to all mage’s, based on how his eyes light up with Hawke’s attention.

“You know, Fenris,” Carver begins, Fenris almost preemptively rolling his eyes. “I have a tattoo.”

"You have a what?” the elf replies flatly.

Dorian can’t help but raise an eyebrow, his eyes between judgmental and curious. Of course, Carver is but a soldier; he can’t feel the lyrium humming under Fenris’ skin every time it activates, but he should know better. Again, intelligence is not the Hawke’s strong suit. 

“A tattoo. A lot of us got them before Ostagar. It's a Mabari. For strength.” He continues to blabber on.

Fenris, very unamused, only partially humors the younger Hawke. “Does it curse you with the ability to reach into a man and tear out his insides?”

“Uh, I can make it bark.”

“Please don't.”

Dorian wrinkles his nose at the thought “I would actually pay _not_ to see that.”

For a split second, he thinks he hears the beginning of a chuckle, a huff of air released from the elf, but he ends it just as quickly as it began. Fenris diverts his eyes to the road ahead of them, pretending like nothing happened.

It’s been like this since they met, and Dorian is no fool; he knows little of the details about the kind of treatment elves face in Tevinter, but he knows there is darkness there. And he’s heard enough about Fenris to know Danarius did truly horrible things to him.

But he’s not like that. He doesn’t want to be viewed like that. Dorian fled Tevinter because of people like Danarius- well, he fled because of his family, but he had, for so long, dreamed about changing things.

It might be foolish, but half a laugh feels like a challenge- like there is something there, in his barriers, that is willing to fall away if only Dorian could prove he means no harm.

Dorian quickens his pace to catch up with Fenris “So, Fenris, how long have you been in Kirkwall?” he asks innocently.

“You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me.” he replies coldly.

“I’m not pretending.”

Fenris huffs, only glancing at Dorian, “In that case, it’s none of your business.”

Dorian smiles, well prepared for a prickly response, “Of course, I don’t ask because I have a right to know. I ask because I’d like to.”

The elf walks away, but not before Dorian can see a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

* * *

Bronze statues stare down at him with scrutinizing stares. The metal glimmers in the sunlight blindingly as it depicts the waves of slaves which were transported through here once upon a time. Their faces show agony and pain, and yet most people stroll through the Gallows each day without so much of a thought. The two largest pieces look like mimicries of the guardians that stand outside the gates of Minrathous. They are the only statues in the square that do not depict slaves. Instead, they are the proud Tevenes which stand above them all- what a legacy to leave behind that even in Kirkwall, Tevinter’s mark on Thedas is one of evil and suffering.

To think that if the installations were scrapped, the town would surely have enough money to feed the poor and impoverished that are starving every day in Lowtown and Darktown.

Dorian sighs, pulling his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. Living in Lowtown has been less than ideal. He isn’t sure if it is better or worse that Kirkwall is built just like a Tevene city, as every corner he turns he is reminded of some grim history like its class segregation right alongside glimmers of Tevene beauty like the architectural designs in Hightown or non-native vines imported from his country many years ago that now invade the city.

There is no wonder that so many here disdain him on sight. He sticks out like a sore thumb and represents the oppression so many face. Hawke’s friends have been merciful for the most part, at least.

Caught up in his own head, Dorian hardly notices the boy run past him until he feels the satchel hanging from his shoulder yanked away with all of his belongings in it.

“Hey!” He shouts “Come back here, you thief!”

The boy runs across the stone floor, surely headed toward back alleyways and escape routes while Templars stare on uncaring- what they are paid to do exactly, Dorian is truly unsure. If it were not for them, if he were in Minrathous he would simply cast one simple spell, and the raffian would be on his knees screaming; he wouldn’t hurt him, a simple Horror would be enough to get his things back and scare the kid out of crime. However, here with watchful eyes looking for reasons to capture a Tevene immigrant, he is helpless to do anything but run after the boy.

The kid whips around the corner and out of Dorian’s sight. Expecting the worst, that he will disappear forever, Dorian runs faster to catch up. However, when he makes his way around the corner, he is met with the glorious sight of Hawke, the man standing triumphant with Dorian’s satchel in hand and the thief whimpering out a meek apology.

“Good. And don’t do it again.” He hears Garrett say. Hawke approaches Dorian with a soft smile and places the satchel in his hand “Are you okay?”

“Just fine, thank you.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t blow up the bastard with so many templars watching.” Hawke jokes, “What are you doing here, anyways?”

“Oh, you know, contemplating the history of Tevinter and the ethical implications of colonization- the usual.”

Hawke chuckles, “If you wanted to do something scholarly, maybe head to a library next time. This isn’t exactly the ideal place for people like us… or, well anyone really.”

“As much as I do not love being surrounded by templars, I do need to sell the items we acquire on our adventures from time to time, and the merchants here ask less questions.”

“Ah, let me come with you, then. I know a few people that trade her regularly. Next time, you might want to try the docks. It’s not much safer, but there’s less Templars.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dorian nods, following Hawke as they walk toward the booths set in the dark corners of the Gallows. “Thank you, Hawke. I’m not sure why you help me or any of us really, but I do owe you.”

Garrett stops where he is to turn to Dorian. His expression holds a rare air of seriousness in his eyes, “You don’t owe me anything. You’re my friend.”

“I-” the mage stutters, “I’m not entirely sure what to say. Friends are a rare thing in Tevinter. I am not sure I have been able to call anyone that in a long time.”

Hawke’s eyebrows furrow together, and Dorian can see the concern in his eyes.

“Oh, don’t get syrupy on me.”

“I just can’t help but think you and Fenris came out of opposite ends of Tevinter with a lot of the same problems. The North is pretty messed up, huh?” Hawke jokes, but the altus knows there is a fair level of sincerity there.

“I think I am still learning the true extent of it.” Dorian admits.

Years of disdain, isolation, disgust with the status quo in Tevinter could not have prepared him for how he left it in the end. His hopes felt dashed as every person he trusted fell away into a spiral of madness and greed. Even then, he’s come to see there is so much he had not known- so much reflected in the poverty and desperation of Kirkwall.

* * *

Hawke makes a habit of buying drinks for the crew after each job. It’s a good time to socialize, even if the group spends half the time bickering, depending on the mix for the day. Fenris much prefers the days that don’t include mages other than Hawke, and small groups are better unless they’re playing Wicked Grace or one of Verric’s other card games.

Today, though, Anders is waiting for them at the bar.

“This is the way you repay me for working with a Tevinter mage? Having me hang out with another?” Fenris scoffs to Garrett, only half joking.

Isabelle rolls her eyes, practically purring, “I think Dorian is lovely.”

“Thank you, dear.” Dorian adds, but he isn’t phased by Fenris’ comment. Hasn’t been even once. He almost seems to find it humorous by now. “That is a lovely broach you’re wearing today, by the way.”

Anders eyes Dorian with curiosity. His mind is filled with disillusion of Tevinter and the freedom he so foolishly hopes for. It guarantees the night will be less than ideal. However, there are drinks to be had, so the bickering can wait as they all find a table in the far back reaches of the tavern where Verric usually sits. The candlelight flickering around them does little to illuminate the room well, and yet the stains on the floor and table are far too visible. As mugs are passed around the table, Fenris is quick to take a large gulp of ale as he takes a spot next to Hawke.

“Kiss ass,” Hawke jokes.

“It’s not his fault you don’t know how to talk to women.” Isabela fusses, “Thank you, Dorian. It belonged to an Antivan prince once- before he met me, that is.”

“You spent a lot of time in Antiva?” Dorian smiles, taking a sip of his drink- red wine as usual.

Isabela’s eyes light up at the mention. It is obvious she misses her old routes and life on the ocean “Oh, yes. There was no shortage of goods to import and export, not to mention good food and entertainment.”

“Don’t forget excellent wine,” Dorian adds.

“Have you been?” Fenris asks. He’s not sure why he does it. It is not as though he has committed to hating the Altus, though he has every right to. But in moments like this where they are all drinking and talking, it is easier to see him as just another person.

“Only once. I did not travel much before coming to Kirkwall. My father had business in the city. He left me to study with the local mages, though it did not stop me from sneaking out at night.” He smirks mischievously, and Fenris can only imagine what an altus might want to do for fun in Antiva- maybe it is better not to try and imagine “Have you? Been to Antiva, that is?”

“No.” Fenris replies “But I have heard plenty.”

“Dorian, you never discuss Tevinter.” Anders says, and Fenris groans- the inevitable questions, of course. He can practically see the mage vibrating with mind numbing, ill-thought-out questions.

“I suppose not,” Dorian says noncommittally, but Anders doesn’t pick up on his discomfort and looks at him expectantly. “I’m from the city of Ventus- though, many know it as Qarinus.”

Ventus, renamed after it was reclaimed from the Qunari invasion, is a coastal city quite close to Seharon. With its varied background and as the home of a Dwarven embassy, it’s inhabitants hail from all over Thedas. Most would call it one of the more open-minded cities of the Imperium. But how open minded could any city holding slaves really be?

“How fascinating,” he half-heartedly muses. “Is it true that mages are free there?”

Fenris watches for Dorian’s response closely. He shifts, almost uncomfortable with the question “Yes and no. Mages are free to practice magic, yes, but very few in Tevinter are _truly_ free.”

“That’s the way things should be. We shouldn’t be herded like cattle or killed for who we are.”

“Yes, but Tevinter is no shining example,” Dorian adds.

Anders doesn’t care to listen though. Fenris realized this very early on. When it comes to discussion of mages and magic, he only begins conversations to spout his opinions, not to learn. “Maybe not, but if you ask me, mages ought to rule.”

Fenris bristles, ready to open his mouth to correct the mage, but Dorian beats him to it.

“Are you blind?” Dorian spits back “Even Tevinter did not begin as a mageocracy. It became one when magic and benign lineages were idolized above all else. Most magisteres are bitter and corrupt. Most of them run the country with murder, bribery, and the occasional blood sacrifice. Those of us who want change are killed for speaking out.”

Ander's furrows his brow, his distaste for the answer palpable in his voice, “You’re an Altus; you can’t seriously think all magisters are evil.”

Dorian’s eyes fall to the table, a moment, a flash of sincere vulnerability hidden there in the flatness of his words, “I didn’t say that.”

But he didn’t _not_ say it either. There is something in the strain in his voice that tugs at Fenris, makes him think for just a moment that Dorian's departure from Tevinter was not from his own mistakes.

“You don’t know what it’s like here. You don’t know what it is to be oppressed.” Anders scowls. “The templars would get what they deserve.”

Dorian’s fist clenches, but whatever burns behind his eyes is not betrayed in his voice anymore. “And you do not realize your situation would be no different in Tevinter. I’m not saying that all this is the solution.” He gestures to the room around them, “Clearly, it’s not. We’re all apostates here with more than one reason to hang, but Tevinter should be a cautionary tale not inspiration. Powerful mages rule, but only those who come from the ancient bloodlines of Magisters. Not all are so fortunate. Magic is a prerequisite for even the most subpar jobs. A commoner born with magic may leave their family to study in a circle, but they will never become more successful than becoming a paper pusher at the cusp of poverty. You would be nothing more there than you are here, and your less magical friends would have a life of servitude if they were lucky.”

A silence falls over the table. Isabela and Garret are visibly uncomfortable while Anders is irritated. Fenris, on the other hand, shoots the healer a haughty smirk. He surely thought he would find someone to side with him in Dorian. Then again, he seemed disillusioned enough to think Fenris would side with him too.

“I, for one, will pass on the servitude.” Isabella chimes in, her voice light and airy “I don’t serve men.”

Next to her, Hawke rolls his eyes, “Could have fooled me.”

“I resent that,” She says with a playful smack to Garrett’s arm.

“What? One could be fooled considering how often you run off with them.” He says between laughter, receiving another barrage of hits from her.

Conversation flows back into stories and jokes between the group. Anders eventually wipes the frown from his face. But Fenris finds his eyes continue coming back to Dorian. Each interaction with him only sparks more questions- about his past in Tevinter and his intentions in Kirkwall. And regarding the truthfulness of his statements. He could be telling the truth. Certainly, if Hawke said such things, Fenris would believe him- would see it as a sign the mage could be trusted. But an Altus is something else. Lies are built into the foundation of Tevinter. Why would Dorian be any different?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea after playing DA2 for the first time and thinking how personality wise Dorian and Fenris have a lot in common. I just think it's so funny how a high friendship/romanced Fenris with mage Hawke totally accepts their magic use outside of the circle but no one else's. I think there was more potential for character growth with him realizing the world of magic and mages isn't as black and white as he thought.


End file.
